


toy soldiers

by Tedronai



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, post fall of the First Order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux wasn't meant to survive the fall of the First Order, and Ben Solo wasn't meant to feel trapped by the love of his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I took the liberty of giving Hux a first name, since as far as I understand, none of the extra material (books and such) give it, either. I'm not yet done reading the novelisation, but I think I've got most of the details it adds through Tumblr. Of course, always feel free to point out anything you think I've missed.
> 
> The rating is obviously for future chapters; there's not much yet besides scene setting here. Also, I'm looking for a beta for this fic, preferably of the sort who doesn't mind chatting and bouncing ideas and generally flailing over the ship. If interested, let me know either here or on Tumblr at http://elan-morin-tedronai.tumblr.com.

Another evening; another fight. That seems to be the norm in the small, rundown watering hole called Kazz’s Corner, Brend observes with the experience of nearly three months. A small-time smuggling crew, judging by their attire and overall state of uncleanliness, has decided to pick a fight with another such. Even watching the events unfold, Brend can’t tell what triggered the conflict, but then again it takes very little when boredom and alcohol come together; whatever the reason, the fight escalates quickly into a full-blown brawl in which bottles and bar stools and bones break with equal ease.

Brend finishes his drink before stepping into the frey. He probably should have done so earlier, it being his job, but since he’s only sort of getting paid for this, he only sort of cares about maintaining the peace. He does put down the fight and the bar is still standing, and if anyone wishes to complain, they can do so to his face.

 

Sticking his blaster back into its holster, he slumps back onto his seat in the booth closest to the door and waves for another drink. A half score ruffians glower sullenly at him, while those who weren’t injured begin picking up the corpses of their less fortunate comrades and drag them away. Brend shrugs and leans back in his seat. He doesn’t make the rules and this one he wouldn’t change even if he did; the one rule of the Corner is that any crew that fights, takes out their own trash.

“Oi, ginger,” the barmaid Ess calls as she places a shot of sunburst vodka before him. “Nice job,” she adds with a wink when he looks up. “Kazz should pay you extra.”

He grunts something in response and downs the drink in one go; Kazz, the owner of the establishment, would laugh himself to an early grave if he heard the suggestion. Ess makes a sound that couldn’t possibly be replicated with human vocal chords — disapproval, Brend figures — and shakes her bald head as she glides away. Somehow she never looks like she’s stepping over corpses.

 

The bar doesn’t close until shortly before dawn. Brend collects his pay for the night, as he does every night; he doesn’t trust Kazz further than that. He doesn’t pause when Ess calls after him; she’s a distant relative of Kazz’s, who in turn happens to hate him, and that’s a mess he does not want to get involved in any deeper than he has to. Getting tangled with Ess would likely cost him his life, and while he doesn’t necessarily value it all that much, there are still some ways in which he doesn’t want to die. ‘Beaten to death in a decrepit shithole’ is somewhere towards the top of that list.

The room he’s renting is only a block away from Kazz’s Corner. The building belongs to a retired smuggler and the tenants are all outlaws of some sort. It’s a place for old, embittered misfits; a place for disillusioned idealists and jaded ex freedom-fighters; like the entire town, it’s a place where dreams and ambitions crawl to die.

 

The man known here as Brend… fits right in.

 

He closes the door behind him, activates the locks, and — without being fully aware of doing so — sheds his mask. Three steps take him from the door to the narrow bed. Three steps take him from Brend the bouncer, Brend the ginger with a past and a story no more or less tragic than anyone else in this dump of a spaceport — to Jacen Hux, former General of the First Order.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben Solo pulls the switch and the ship jumps smoothly into hyperspace. The ship is beautiful; small and agile, with low energy consumption and high maneuverability, it’s the best present he’s received in his entire life. Poe Dameron chose it for him and his mother and Uncle Luke paid for it; Chewie and Rey made a series of modifications in the name of functionality and convenience, while Finn offered wise-ass commentary from the sidelines. Ben smiles, thinking back to the scene.

He misses them already and he’s only been gone for a bit over a month.

Then again, that’s probably a good sign; he knows he has something he’ll want to go back to, when the time comes. It won’t be for a while yet, but he’ll have to go back some day. He owes them too much, and not just for the ship — the ship is the least of his debt to his family. It’s a debt he won’t ever be able to repay, but he can try to be worthy of it.

And in a way that is why he’s cruising through the galaxy on his own a mere fifteen months after the fall of the First Order.

The Resistance won, of course. Snoke was killed, the fleet decimated, the territories pacified, the remnants of the army routed, and Kylo Ren… brought back to Light. Of course that’s a detail kept from the general public; most people never knew that Kylo Ren was Ben Solo, and that’s the way it was decided it should stay. He faced no official trial at the end of the war, only the love and forgiveness of his mother, and the acceptance — not quite unconditional but acceptance nonetheless — of his extended family.

At the time he didn’t have it in him to protest, to demand the right to face justice for Kylo Ren’s crimes — he was shattered mentally and physically and the recovery took time — but once his wounds healed, once his mind pieced itself back together… The lack of closure began to chafe and finally he decided he needed to go.

 

His reverie is interrupted by an increasingly insistent beeping from the communications device. Too comfortable in his seat to get up, he levitates the device to the cockpit and activates it. “Hello, sunshine,” he says when the hologram resolves into an image of Rey.

“Evening, cousin,” Rey replies, rolling her eyes.

“Is it?” Ben asks idly. “Evening, that is.”

Rey shrugs. “It is here. I suppose you’re in hyperspace, the image quality is horrible. Any chance you might be coming home?”

“Not yet.” He hesitates for a moment. “Everything’s good, though? Nothing’s happened? Mother is..?” If something has happened, he’ll of course head back straight away, but going back out of necessity would solve nothing.

“No, no,” Rey reassures him quickly. “She’s fine — everything’s fine.” She doesn’t add the obvious —  _ your mother misses you _ — but Ben hears it anyway. He wonders idly if it’s the Force. She gives him a wry look. “…Yeah. Oh, and Uncle Luke wants to continue your training when you get back so just…” Her expression softens again. “Take care of yourself, you hear me?”

Then she’s pushed to the side with an indignant yelp, and Poe Dameron’s face replaces hers, with the ex stormtrooper Finn right behind him. As far as Ben can tell, Rey is somehow involved with both Dameron and Finn, and the two are involved with each other as well, and Ben has no idea how that can possibly work but evidently it does. Good for them.

“Yo, Solo, good to see you, man!” Finn exclaims at the same time as Dameron says, “You’re taking care of the ship, I hope?”

Ben laughs, still surprised after all this time at how easily these people can make him laugh. “Yes, yes, Dameron,” he replies. “And you too, Finn.” His relationship with the former stormtrooper isn’t precisely easy, not yet, but he has high hopes that it will turn out well. Finn is making an effort, so the least Ben can do is try to reciprocate.

Rey pushes her way back into the hologram. “By the Force, Poe, you saw his face when he saw the ship. He’s gonna take better care of it than himself!” Then she looks back at Ben. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother that,” she says with an exaggerated wink.

“Much appreciated, cousin,” Ben replies, only a bit wryly. “I gotta go. You’ll keep in touch, no doubt—”

“Because  _ you _ never do!”

“—so I’ll see you later!” he finishes the sentence and closes the connection. He slumps forward, elbows on the edge of the control board and lowers his head into his hands. He doesn’t deserve the family he has; he doesn’t deserve their love. But it’s not exactly a gift he can take back to the store and exchange so he’s just going to have to find a way to live with it. Who knows, maybe in time he’ll even figure out how to become a person who could be worthy of such blessings.

He has to try.

 

* * *

 

 

Hux wakes up in the mid afternoon. He drags himself out of bed and rubs his face. He needs a shave, but he lost his razor — yesterday? …Last week? No, feeling the stubble covering his jaw tells him it can’t have been more than four days. His hair is longer than he likes, too, but he’s deliberately let it grow to make him look less like… himself. Less like who he used to be.

He gets dressed slowly, mechanically. If there ever was a man running on autopilot, it’s Hux; he can’t stop to think about what he’s doing, what his life has become, or he’ll never make it off this planet alive. He shuts the door on the obvious question — why would he want to? what is there left for him to live for? — and checks his blaster and the butterfly knife he keeps for emergencies — the knife doesn’t let himself think about other than to check that it’s still there — and then he’s ready.

It’s time to go out and be Brend again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or comments! Each and every one of you is greatly appreciated.

Ben doesn’t believe in fate. He can’t believe that it was his destiny to fall, to become Kylo Ren, to commit atrocities in the name of the First Order. He won’t believe that it was inevitable, any more so than he believes that his return to Light was. Some people might find comfort in such thoughts but not him. All he sees is an attempt to strip away his free will, to gloss over his mistakes and to absolve him of responsibility. Ben doesn’t find comfort in the idea that he couldn’t have done anything differently.

Fate aside, the undeniable pull of the Force is something else. He is no Jedi Master, he’s not sure if he ever will be no matter what Uncle Luke says, and his trust in whatever the Force is trying to tell him is far from unconditional. But it’s not like he has a better destination in mind — alright, maybe he’s also a little bit curious — so he lets himself be guided to the Outer Rim.

 

The spaceport is nothing if not forbidding. More buildings look like they’re about to fall apart than not, and those in better repair have an air of hostility that Ben doesn’t need the Force to sense. He doesn’t want to leave his ship alone, but knows that breaking into it would require more time and resources than a casual thief would have, and it’s outwardly too unremarkable for a professional to bother trying. He’s still going to return to the ship to sleep; he doubts there’s anywhere on this planet, let alone in this town, that he’d want to spend the night.

He walks with no particular hurry, picking his way through the narrow streets littered with rubbish and the occasional passed-out drunk. He can sense people watching him even though his eyes would tell him that he’s alone on the street — well, alone in being conscious, he mentally corrects as what he initially took for a pile of trash suddenly turns on its side and belches before falling still again. Ben rolls his eyes as he sidesteps past the creature and continues on his way. Watching or not, nobody approaches him.

 

The night is darkening quickly and the state of the street lights leaves much to be desired; perhaps one in three or four is actually lit where there are lights at all, and many of the alleys away from what must amount to ‘main streets’ around here are completely unlit. Ben can function with very little light, the Force is convenient like that, and seeing his surroundings better likely wouldn’t be an improvement. He wonders, not for the first time, what exactly he’s doing here. What could there be on this forsaken planet that he needs to find? He can’t imagine, but that only means that he’s getting more curious — although he does consider the possibility, unlikely as it is, that he has misread the instructions. Perhaps the Force was trying to guide him to a holiday resort on a pleasantly tropical planet a system or two away.

The mental image of the Force — or a personification thereof — watching his bumbling search on an entirely wrong planet amuses him enough to make him laugh out loud, the sound jarring against the bleakness of the scenery.

 

He passes a couple of bars on his way, each more disreputable-looking than the last. When he left his ship, the plan was to find a local watering hole and have a drink while feeling out the atmosphere, but what he’s seen so far hasn’t really made him want to drink or eat anything here. He’s not usually picky about where he drinks or spends time, but even he has some standards and what he’d prefer to do is get back to his ship and quit this hellhole… If not for the persistent itch at the back of his consciousness that is the Force — being infuriatingly cryptic as usual — he’d be gone already.

He turns around a corner — and only the warning of the Force makes him duck in time as something big and hairy takes a swing at him. He avoids another blow without difficulty, and Big-and-hairy yells something in a language he can’t understand, probably cussing him out but for all Ben knows they may as well have been reciting a grocery list.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ben says, in Basic, trying to sound more calm than he feels, “so don’t make me, alright?”

Big-and-hairy keeps yelling and gesturing in a manner that on a human — and most other humanoid body languages that Ben is familiar with — would look aggressive and mildly threatening. The commotion is drawing something of an audience, a miscellaneous collection of intelligent life forms babbling in a variety of languages, and the primary emotion exuding from them is excitement. They  _ want _ to witness a fight, Ben realises.

“I’m not here to fight, dammit!” he exclaims. “I just… I just wanted a drink, okay? Do you understand me?” They certainly seem to; even Big-and-hairy has stopped shouting and tilts their head expectantly. Ben suppresses a sigh. “Yeah. Drink. I’ll buy you a drink, and you’ll leave me alone. Alright?”

Big-and-hairy nods their head — the gesture is exaggerated, possibly not part of the species’ natural range of communicative gestures — and puts their arm across Ben’s shoulders, steering him towards a building that seems to be a bar of some sort. By the sound of it, the entire motley crew of spectators — momentarily disappointed over the lack of a fight but much comforted by the idea of alcohol — decided to follow. Ben groans. He should have told the Force to go get fucked and found that tropical holiday resort planet instead.

 

* * *

 

 

The evening has been unusually peaceful. Only one fight so far, and it didn’t even require Brend to do more than stand up and draw his blaster before the quarrelling parties decided to take their disagreement elsewhere. Brend suspects one of them ended up killing the other, anyway, but outside the bar it’s not his problem.

The unusual quiet does nothing to improve his mood. For one, fights always make people thirsty, which means people buy drinks, which means that lack of fighting turns Kazz’s mood sour, which he routinely takes out on Ess and Brend. Having to listen to that doesn’t sit well with Brend, but it’s something he has to endure. For another thing, fights are a distraction that he needs to get through the day; their absence gives him way too much time to think.

 

The crew that walks in around midnight doesn’t seem, on the first glance, in any way remarkable. A gathering of various alien species, all bustling around a human male as though around a hero — maybe it’s his birthday, maybe it’s a bachelor party, whatever the case there’s certainly celebration in the air and the atmosphere in the bar is instantly infused with new energy. Brend sees the other customers looking up with thinly veiled interest, as well. That many people, in such high spirits? Something is bound to happen sooner or later.

Brend merely looks them over to assess which of them pose the most potential threat; none of them appear aggressive, few are armed. If a brawl does break out, the ones to watch out for will likely be the hulking Racydian — mainly for his bulk and raw strength — and… the human. Humans rarely venture into Kazz’s, and those that do, have less compunctions about wrecking things, be it furniture or other life forms. This particular human doesn’t seem like he wants to be here — his posture is defensive, obvious even with the Racydian’s hairy arm around his shoulders in a seemingly companionable manner, his movements stiff, poised on the edge of flight, anxious to be gone.

The crew settle around a table, dragging extra chairs from nearby tables, and the human waves Ess over. Ess casts a long-suffering look in Brend’s direction — Brend shrugs; her career choices are not his problem — as she glides unhurriedly over. Most of the crew follow her with their eyes, but Brend suspects it’s more in anticipation of the incoming beverages than in appreciation of her near-human shape.

The human watches her too, more wary than like someone who’s enjoying what he’s seeing. Something about him sets off alarms at the back of Brend’s mind — no, that’s somehow wrong but he can’t put a finger on it — but Brend is relatively sure he hasn’t seen the man here before.

 

The alarms refuse to shut up, though, and the mental cacophony sets him on edge, a feeling of impending disaster creeping up on him on all sides. It makes him jumpy, to the point that before an hour has passed he’s nearly drawn his blaster on Ess just because she happened to approach him at a blind angle and startled him. No actual trouble has so far surfaced; the crew with the human — at this point Brend is relatively sure the human isn’t part of the crew, if it’s a crew at all — has been drinking and getting steadily merrier but anybody has yet to break anything so he can’t throw them out. He’s not sure why he’s so anxious to get rid of them. Brend doesn’t do  _ anxiety _ ; Brend doesn’t care enough.

 

It’s nearing 2 a.m. local time when the human extracts himself from the group and makes his way over to where Brend is sitting. He’s drunk, that much is evident from the way he’s walking; exaggeratedly steady, cautiously not bumping into anything in his path in an effort to fake sobriety, where an actually sober person wouldn’t care about avoiding collision. Nothing about his manner is hostile or threatening, but Brend has to fight the inexplicable urge to flee.

Inexplicable… until the man is standing across the table from him, towering over him, leaning in to speak—

( _ “Hey? Hey, Brend, right? Do me a favour? See those, those guys I’m with? Can you— can you throw them out? I can pick a fight if it helps, I just need an excuse to get the hell out of here. I can pay?” _ )

And Brend recognises him.

No.

_ Hux _ recognises him. And that’s worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben leans lightly on the table between him and the red-haired mercenary called Brend as he speaks — the room seems to be rotating slowly around him, he’s pretty sure he didn’t drink that much, maybe the stuff was stronger than he thought. He’s vaguely aware that as far as extraction plans go, staging a fight to get his companions thrown out is perhaps his poorest to date, but he’s growing steadily more desperate and besides, if Brend was in on it, what could possibly go wrong?

Suddenly Brend’s eyes widen and colour drains from his face; the shock and near-blind panic radiating from him are jarring enough that Ben nearly takes a step back. And then the man is reaching for his blaster.

_ This is not how this day was supposed to go _ , Ben thinks in profound exasperation as instincts take over and he stops the other man in a Force-hold. He shakes his head as Brend glares up at him — a bad idea; the room spins faster for a few moments. “That’s— that’s not necessary— honest?” he tries to articulate a reassurance and a question at the same time but it doesn’t really work. He wants to slap himself for not watching his alcohol intake more carefully. At least he can still manipulate the Force.

And then Brend speaks. “Let go of me,” he says, his voice tense and oddly, almost disturbingly familiar—

“Oh,” is all Ben can manage when the dots finally connect in his head. “Oh, shit.” He’s stumbling back, bumping into someone but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to apologise. “Oh, what the  _ fuck _ .” He’s lost his Force-hold on the other man, and Brend — Hux — whatever he’s calling himself these days — is almost certainly clutching that blaster, ready to draw it, but Ben can barely keep himself upright, let alone worry about hypothetical weapons being potentially pointed at him.

“I could ask the same of you,” Hux replies, and by now it takes the Force to tell Ben that he’s still reeling, he’s hiding it that well. “But  _ not here _ .” He stands up slowly, one hand still on the damn blaster and Ben wants to tell him he’s not a threat but he doesn’t think the other man would believe.

“Oi, ginger, everything alright there?” the barmaid asks as she breezes by.

Hux nods and replies without looking at her. “We’re all good, Ess, just gonna escort fly-boy here out for some fresh air.”

The barmaid snorts. “You do that.” She looks at Ben and adds, “Escort him well away from the door, will ya? Could do without a puddle o’ puke right outside.”

Hux doesn’t grace the last part with a reply, or at least not one that Ben can hear. Ben doesn’t have the will to protest as Hux grabs his arm in an iron grip and steers him towards the exit. He thinks he might actually be sick.

 

* * *

 

 

Hux drags Ren out of the bar and into the nearest unlit alley. The taller man stumbles drunkenly but Brend has had a lot of experience maneuvering less than steady walkers and Hux keeps him upright and on course with relative ease. He shoves Ren against a wall and holds the blaster to his throat. “What are you doing here?” he hisses through his teeth; he’s so wound up, his jaw clenched so tightly he can barely force the words out.

Ren looks blankly back at him for a moment. Then he lets out an inarticulate groan and lurches to the side, and Hux takes a step back just in time to avoid once-ingested alcohol splashing onto his boots. He keeps the blaster pointed at Ren through the display though a detached part of his mind wants to laugh hysterically. Surely this must be the weirdest fucking nightmare he’s ever had.

Eventually Ren straightens and turns back to face Hux. He looks only mildly surprised to see the blaster nearly in his face. “You know that’s unnecessary, right?” His voice is slightly hoarse and he leans on the wall behind him.

Hux ignores the comment. “What. Are you. Doing here?” His voice is shaking now — his whole body is trying to shake but his deeply rooted need for control doesn’t allow him such a show of weakness and his hand holding the blaster remains steady. How much longer he can keep it that way is another question.

“The Force,” Ren replies as though it’s an answer that makes perfect sense. “The Force told me to come here.”

Hux has never truly understood the idiom of ‘seeing red’ until now. “ _ That is not an answer! _ ” he almost screams. He can almost see himself unravelling — right before Kylo fucking Ren’s eyes — he’s been hiding behind Brend for too long to have any way of dealing with having that mask forcibly ripped off. He should probably lower his weapon before he actually fires at Ren. That’s just not going to end well.

“But it  _ is _ the only answer I can give you,” Ren says, sounding more exasperated than drunk now. “Do I look like I wanted to be here?”

“ _ I don’t fucking know! _ ” Hux can’t believe he’s having this conversation. His arm is beginning to hurt and his breath is coming too fast, too shallow, he can’t seem to get enough air.

Ren sighs and raises his hands slowly to brush that ridiculous mop of wavy, dark hair back from his face. “Look, Hux—” He frowns. “Brend? Whatever, look…” He shakes his head, as though he already forgot what he was saying. There’s an almost apologetic look in his eyes as something unseen pries the blaster off Hux’s hand, but his voice is more irritable than anything. “I’d rather you didn’t point that thing around.”

Hux stares at his now-empty hand. “You son of a bitch,” he mutters, wincing at how it comes out sounding more like a strangled sob. He needs to get a grip, dammit!

“Can we just continue this conversation somewhere else?” Ren asks, ignoring the insult. “I really,  _ really _ want some water.” He reaches out with one hand to touch Hux’s shoulder and — as much as Hux hates to admit it — the physical contact is grounding and he feels his breathing even out. Unless…

“What… did you… do, Ren?” he demands, still staring up at the other man.

Ren blinks. “What? Oh.” He shakes his head, looking actually offended. “I did not use the Force on you, Hux,” he replies, a touch sharply. “For one, I wouldn’t be still trying to negotiate with you if I had, and for another thing…” He trails off with a grimace. “I just didn’t, okay. Now can we move? Something’s watching us and I don’t want it to decide to try to mug us.”

A quick look around tells him that there’s nobody in the alley besides the two of them, and Hux doubts any lone drunkard would dare attack them anyway. Feeling slightly more collected, at least for the moment, he nods anyway. This  _ is _ a conversation better had elsewhere. “Come along, then.” He doesn’t look, as he turns to lead the way, but he can hear Ren following.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than I planned and the result is less than optimal (written as it was approximately 2 sentences at a time over the course of a month), but that's done now. Thank you for your patience, those of you who are still with me, and thanks to PaperKnights for betaing and kicking my butt upon request. <3

Ben follows Hux in silence, adjusting his steps to the shorter man’s pace. He wonders how Hux ended up here, on this planet, doing what he seems to have been doing for a while already. _Brend? Really._ As far as aliases go, chopping your father’s first name in half doesn’t seem like the most creative option, but if it has worked for Hux, Ben can’t exactly judge.

Watching him from the corner of his eye, Ben doesn’t really think it looks like things _have_ worked out for Hux. The former general looks… _different_ , and not just for his longer hair and more gaunt face — hell, he even looks _shorter_ than Ben remembered but that must be just his imagination. He seems more dangerous, somehow, and that’s strange because surely a general of the First Order is far more dangerous by default than a small-time street tough. There’s a hardness to his features that wasn’t there— before. It’s as though the smoothness and sophistication of his immaculate upbringing have worn off and what’s left is a diamond-hard core of jagged edges of desperation and splintered shards of shattered ambitions.

Ben shakes his head, stifling a chuckle. _Waxing poetic, Solo? You really are drunk._

On a more serious note, though, he never took Hux for a survivor. If he’d had to guess, back then, he wouldn’t have expected the prissy general to outlive his precious First Order. He’d have expected Hux to die fighting, to go down in a perceived blaze of glory, cursing the Resistance with his dying breath.

“How come you’re alive, anyway?” He didn’t mean to voice the question but it’s out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Hux gives him a flat look. “I didn’t choose to be.”

“Oh? So what’s keeping you that way?” That’s not a good question to ask, not at all, but he must have left his verbal filter at the bar and it’s too late to go back for it so he may as well just roll with it. “There’s always some way to die. Hell, you could even waltz into the nearest Resistance base and turn yourself in. That would do it. You’d get a trial, your one last tour in the spotlight, you’d probably even get to wear your uniform for the execution—”

Maybe the Force warned him, maybe it didn’t, but he certainly doesn’t manage to evade the blow as Hux punches him so hard it sends him reeling into the nearest wall, black spots dancing across his vision. He blinks a few times before he’s able to focus his eyes again… to find Hux already walking away. Ben gapes for a moment before sprinting after the other man.

“Okay, so that was uncalled for,” he mutters as he catches up with Hux. The other man doesn’t respond. “I, uh… apologise.” He rubs his face, grimacing at the pain. The bruise is going to be spectacular. That’s going to be interesting to explain away if Rey decides to contact him again before it fades. He doesn’t think ‘walking into a door’ is going to cut it.

 

It’s not until he follows Hux into something that passes for an apartment building around here that Ben truly grasps that Hux really lives here. He marvels at the surreality of the situation as he watches the ex General methodically unlock several locks on the door before it opens. Hux gestures impatiently for Ben to precede him into the apartment… well, room.

“You live _here_?” he asks, somewhat dumbly, and Hux rewards him with an unimpressed look.

“In a manner of speaking.” He sounds more like Hux, Ben observes, than he did back at the bar. He _looks_ more like Hux, too, somehow, although Ben can’t pinpoint the difference. He crouches before a cooler, taking out a bottle, and tosses it to Ben. “Water,” he answers the unspoken question. “You wanted water, didn’t you.”

Ben really did. He drinks almost half the bottle before flopping down on the narrow bed. Hux remains standing, not quite scowling at him, not quite managing to loom over him despite the reversed height difference. Ben wants to sleep, but he doesn’t think Hux would appreciate if he passed out in his bed. He must have somehow dozed off or spaced out anyway because suddenly he realises that Hux seems to be packing things into a small suitcase.

 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Away,” Hux replies curtly. He pauses for a second in folding the grey fabric to shoot a dirty look at Ben. “I wasn’t going to stay here forever, you know.”

“Funny,” Ben retorts. “Could have fooled me.”

Hux doesn’t grace that with an answer, just stuffs another item into the suitcase and what looks like a small pouch of credits into his pocket. Watching him, Ben feels oddly apprehensive. _Not fast enough,_ he thinks; _at that rate he’s not going to make it._ It takes him a moment longer than it should to realise there’s something seriously wrong with the thought. Namely that it’s not a thought as much as the Force, telling him to move.

“We’ve got to get out,” he says slowly, disoriented by the realisation, straining his senses to figure out where the threat is coming from. He can’t locate it, but the sense of danger intensifies tenfold now that he’s paying attention to it.

“What are you talking about?” Hux asks, frowning. He knows enough of the Force to not completely disregard the warning, Ben can sense that, but the overriding emotion radiating from him is still skepticism.

“I’m not sure but—” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because the ceiling comes down on his head.

 

Ben acts on instinct, throwing himself at Hux to shield the smaller man both with the Force and his own body. An indignant yelp tells Ben just how much the gesture is appreciated, and then Hux has his blaster in his hand and is shooting at something behind Ben’s back. Belatedly it dawns on Ben that the entire ceiling didn’t come down, just a portion of it, and through that hole came invaders until the small room was packed — which, granted, doesn’t require many of them. Two seem to be already down thanks to Hux’s precise aim.

When Hux tries to back towards the door, Ben grabs his wrist and shakes his head frantically. “What, so now you don’t want to get out?” Hux snarls and shakes himself free.

Ben has little time to elaborate; fending off the blaster bolts is taking most of his focus as it is. “More of them,” he replies, panting from the exertion. A shot gets past his guard, blasting into the wall behind him, almost close enough to brush his ear. He nods towards the hole in the ceiling, hoping that Hux catches his meaning. Hux gives him a look that says something along the lines of ‘seriously, Ren?’ but the mental feedback from him is a mixture of resignation and grim determination.

Ben grabs the nearest object with the Force and throws it at the intruders — he’s slightly startled to realise that the mass of grey fabric unfolding mid-air is a First Order military issue greatcoat — he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because the distraction does its job of creating confusion and gives him the opening he requires. He leaps over the intruders — nearly banging his head on the intact part of the ceiling — and lands behind them. A boot to the back sends one sprawling, dropping the blaster, while the other tries to take a swing at Ben but their smaller frame leaves them at a clear disadvantage and Ben dodges easily. Hux finishes the third one still standing before clubbing the second one with his blaster.

“They’ll be through the door soon now that it’s gone quiet in here,” Ben says in a low voice. “I’ll boost you up. No time for that,” he adds when Hux makes a move towards the suitcase. Its contents have spilt onto the floor and would take too long to gather again. Hux grimaces and picks up the greatcoat instead, as if daring Ben to object, but time really is growing short and as long as Hux is co-operating, Ben isn’t about to complain.

Hux goes up through the hole in the ceiling. He’s lighter than Ben expected — or remembered? — but strong enough to pull Ben up after him with minimal difficulty. They’re in another room, almost identical to Hux’s with the exception that it seems uninhabited.

“Charming,” Ben mutters, earning a dirty glare. He spreads his hands in a placating gesture. “Lead the way. Out, remember?”

Below, they can hear the sound of the door being blasted in and that if nothing else ensures that Hux keeps co-operating. Hux gestures for Ben to follow before dashing out of the room into a dim corridor. A door at the end of the corridor takes them to what seems to pass for a fire exit in these parts; Ben isn’t sure why he should have expected anything else. He’s never been scared of heights but he doesn’t like the way the spiralling stairs seem only tenuously attached to the side of the building. Hux doesn’t appear to notice his hesitation — small blessings — and certainly shows none himself, bolting down the potentially less than safe path at a breakneck pace. Muttering curses under his breath, Ben follows.

 

* * *

 

 

Two blocks away Hux finally stops and turns to look back. There’s no sign of pursuit, at least yet, and they may have time to come up with an actual plan. Ren is panting slightly and looking down at Hux with questions writ all over his dumb face. He looks less intimidating in regular clothes, Hux observes, and considering he looked more theatrical than intimidating even in the ridiculous robes he’d worn— back then—

“I’ve got a ship,” Ren says.

“Really?” Hux replies, not bothering to moderate the sarcasm in his voice. “I thought you’d walked here.”

“It’s in the rental hangar,” Ren goes on, unfazed by the interruption. “If we can get back there, I can get us off this planet.”

Hux stares. Somehow Ren appears to have decided that Hux is going with him. Well, after what just happened, that may be his best bet to get off the planet but that doesn’t make him any more fond of the idea. He hasn’t had many ideas he could say he’s been ‘fond’ of since… in a long time. _Ah, fuck it._ “Come along, then.”

 

They almost make it without further incident. The scene couldn’t be more cliched; they round the last corner, not an enemy in sight, except suddenly there’s blaster fire. Ren yells something that might have been ‘Run!’ or just an inarticulate war cry. At least he doesn’t try to grab Hux’s hand, the flight is already too reminiscent of a bad holo drama. The hangar is straight ahead now, gates yawning open like a maw into which Ren dashes ahead of Hux, damn the man’s longer legs. A blaster bolt hits Hux on the right arm but he keeps running. Ren is waiting for him on the ship’s ramp, his hand stuck out and a look of intense concentration on his face and two blaster bolts freeze in mid air.

Another one hits Hux square in the back, and the last thing he knows is Ren swearing as he catches him.

 

An indeterminable amount of time later Hux… wakes up. He wasn’t expecting to, considering how he’d been hit. Conclusion, slow in forming: the blasters were set to stun. But why? Unless… they wanted him alive. Or Ren. But more likely Hux, because Ren couldn’t possibly have made that many enemies on the planet already.

Speaking of which…

He wills his senses to co-operate, taking in his immediate surroundings. The gentle hum of an engine suggests a running ship. So they made it out. He opens his eyes to find himself on a cot in a small but neat space that must pass for sleeping quarters on Ren’s ship. It takes him another moment to realise that the blanket covering him isn’t a blanket but his old greatcoat. He shakes his head, almost amused; of all the items he could have grabbed, he picked the coat? Then again, there wasn’t a lot of time to think. Most of his clothes were left behind, not that he’d had a lot, but it was more than he has now.

But if that’s the price he had to pay to get off that forsaken planet, he can’t bring himself to mind too much. He still has the credits — a quick, half-panicked search tells him he does — he’d meant to eventually spend on a passage somewhere more sane, and he may not have any idea what Ren wants with him but he’s relatively sure it’s not money.

 

He gets up slowly; his muscles ache and protest but he ignores the pain, too restless and curious to stay put. He makes his way cautiously through a doorway to a bigger, round room, on one side of which there’s a bench and a table and on the other what looks like a surprisingly well-equipped cooking unit. Is this truly Ren’s ship? Hux can’t imagine the man caring about cooking. Past these curiosities he comes to the door that leads to the cockpit. He’s about to speak when he realises that Ren, seated on the pilot’s seat, is already talking to somebody.

“I’m not sure,” Ren says. Then he chuckles. “No, not coming home just yet, but you knew that already.”

The holo of a young woman appears resigned. “Yeah.” Suddenly she looks up, as though directly at Hux although she can’t possibly see him. “There’s someone with you, isn’t there?”

Ren simply laughs, not looking at Hux. “Why do you even phrase that as a question since you clearly know the answer?”

The girl looks back at Ren again. “Let’s see… oh, common courtesy?” She smirks a little. “Yes, that’s the thing, not that you’d probably know what it means.”

“You wound me,” Ren replies lightly, not even feigning offence. “Anyway, tell your boyfriends I said hi.”

“And your mother,” the girl adds, clearly not a question.

Ren shrugs. “If you must. Take care, cousin.”

“You too, Ben.”

 

Ren waits a few moments before acknowledging Hux’s presence even after ending the comm-call. “You’re awake, then.”

Hux doesn’t grace that with a response. He sits on the co-pilot’s seat, watching the other man closely. Ren is sporting a bruise where Hux hit him earlier, but it’s already almost faded and Hux wonders exactly how much time has passed. No; it can’t have been that long. The accelerated healing must be a Force thing.

“That was your little scavenger Jedi,” Hux says; it’s not a question but the look on Ren’s face confirms it. Hux was aware — sort of — that she’d turned out to have some familial connection to Ren, but seeing them interact is beyond bizarre. “She called you Ben. Is that what you’re calling yourself these days?”

“It’s my name,” Ren replies, sounding mildly annoyed now. “Ben Solo,” he continues, not looking at Hux, “or Organa, depending on who you’re talking to. Sometimes Benjamin Organa Solo, if you want to get really official about it.” He looks back to Hux again. “What about you, _Brend_?”

What about him, indeed. “I am who I’ve always been,” Hux replies, meeting Ren’s eyes with a level look, yet unable to shake the feeling that he’s being a liar.

Ren drops the subject, which in itself is an almost alarmingly clear sign of how much he has changed; he would have never let it go without digging deeper back when he was calling himself _Kylo Ren_. “I did a short hyperspace jump to shake potential pursuers off our trail but I don’t think there were any to begin with.” He gives Hux a pointed look as though inviting him to explain what the attack was about but Hux has no answers for him. “So, anyway… Now we can go anywhere and I don’t have any specific destination in mind, not anymore—” He seems oddly amused by that. “—so I’m open to suggestions if you have any.”

Hux stares at him. “You can just drop me off somewhere, any decent-sized space port in the Outer Rim works.”

Ren arches an eyebrow. “So you can continue your glittering career as… whatever it is you were doing back there?” Then he shakes his head and raises his hands in a placative gesture. “No, that was uncalled for, no need to punch me again.”

“So will you just—” Hux begins, impatient, but Ren cuts him off.

“If that’s what you really want, I will, of course. I’m not abandoning you just because you feel the need to punish yourself.” The casual delivery makes the words sink in slowly, and before Hux can think of a comeback Ren goes on. “But first, let me tell you something.”

The conversation is beyond bizarre, and stuck on Ren’s ship as he is, Hux can’t even walk away from it. “If you must.”

Ren smiles briefly. “I vaguely recall telling you that the Force told me to come out here, well, to that planet. I wasn’t entirely sober and you weren’t at your mental best, but I was telling the truth. The Force did guide me there. But now that I’m out of that place again, I don’t feel it tugging me to go back.”

Hux fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Really.”

It wasn’t a question but Ren chooses to treat it as such anyway. “Yes. And I can see you have a guess as to why that might be.”

“If you tell me it was your destiny, I will punch you,” Hux mutters aridly. Ren says nothing, merely looks at him with raised eyebrows, and Hux sighs. “You know what, just— just don’t answer that at all.”

Ren, wisely, holds his peace. For a while they both stare out into space — literally — without speaking. Hux considers his options. Does he really want to get stuck on another planet, in another seedy space port? Would that really be better than travelling with Ren? If that’s even what Ren is offering. The idea of being in any way indebted to Kylo fucking Ren is far from appealing, and trying to think of him as Ben Solo doesn’t make it any more so. The idea of being left working in another bar to maybe some day afford passage offworld makes him want to throw himself out of the airlock.

He hasn’t reached any kind of conclusion when Ren breaks the silence again. “I’m going to take a nap,” he says. He sets a course on the navigator and makes the hyperspace jump before getting up. “You feel free to help yourself if you’re hungry or something, I’m sure you’ll find things. Don’t try to take over the ship or murder me in my sleep.” He doesn’t sound particularly concerned, and Hux supposes he has no need to be; he has the Force, after all.

Hux makes a noncommittal sound that Ren may take as a reply if he wishes to. Then Ren is gone, leaving Hux alone with his thoughts and the hyperspace view which, predictably enough, holds no answers.


End file.
